It's in the Genes

Working Hard, Or Hardly Working

"Her favorite flowers are red tulips, so I would like one bouquet of those," Michelle Turner said, leaning her hands against the counter. "If the color is an issue, purple or yellow are okay too, but red would be the best."

"Red shouldn't be an issue," I assured her, writing the request down on my notepad. "Do you want any other flowers mixed in, or just the tulips?"

Michelle shook her head. "Just some good, old fashioned tulips—like the Dutch intended."

"Okay. And how big of a bouquet?" I asked.

"A dozen is good," she replied.

"Would you like a card or a note to go with it?"

Michelle shook her head. "No, thank you. I like to do those myself," she said with a smile. "It makes her happier, and just seems more personal anyway."

"It's always nice getting something thoughtful like that," I agreed. "How old will she be this year?"

"Seventy-three," Michelle replied.

"Wow, that's great! She definitely doesn't look it."

Michelle laughed. "Not at all! She doesn't even dye her hair. I am actually really mad I missed out on that gene," she said. Her hair was more salt-and-pepper at this point.

"Really? She barely has any grays. How is that possible?" I asked, recalling a mental picture of her mother. She had some gray hair, but for the most part, it was still brown. She did have wrinkles and her skin had somewhat of a leathery look, but not nearly as much as most of the other women her age that I knew.

"I have no clue. It's not fair, though. Sometimes, I think she looks better than I do!" Michelle joked.

"Oh, shush, you look great!" I said. "What are you? Like, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?"

"You're cute, Dee. But you know this is the only florist in town, right? There's no need to use flattery to keep customers," she said with a grin.

"Oh, just take my compliment, Michelle," I retorted, rolling my eyes. One of the interesting things that I had to get used to after we escaped from the laboratory was the smalltalk. Not that we didn't have it at the lab—everyone engages in smalltalk of some sort. But out here, the subjects were different. There was this weird issue with aging. At the lab, there was some stigma with the loss of physical ability that came with age, but just looking older wasn't an issue. Especially since our generation was the first to really survive for any length of time, we all had a pretty positive view of getting older. Wrinkles, gray hair—it didn't really matter.

"Fine, fine," Michelle said, laughing.

I smiled."Now, would you like us to deliver it to you then? Or would you like to pick it up?"

"I'll pick it up," she confirmed.

"And her birthday is the twelfth, right? Am I remembering that correctly?" I asked.

"You're good—yes!" Michelle nodded.

"And is that the day you'd like them ready by?" I asked.

"Yes. In the morning, if that is possible."

"Yep, no problem," I said, making sure to write that down. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

"No, that should be good," Michelle replied.

"Great! If you think of anything else, feel free to give us a call," I said, taking her credit card information before she went off.

"I'll see you the twelfth!" Michelle chirped, with a short, cute wave, adjusting the purse hanging from a strap on her shoulder.

I waved back. "See you then!"

Michelle left, the bells on the door jingling behind her. I typed her order into the system and put the paper in the log book.

The personality I had to assume for work was...interesting. I am not naturally super outgoing or friendly, but when you work at a business and have to interact with customers, you have to be both of those things. It felt a lot like being in a play. I was an actress, the shop was my stage, and Michelle was a character in the most recent scene. I think Niall would have been more comfortable—not just because he is more social, but because he's a little dramatic. If we had gone to a normal high school, I have the suspicion he would have been a theatre kid.

"Marge getting her usual tulips?"

Katherine, my boss, looked out at me from the back room. Marge is Michelle's mother.

I nodded. "Yep, looks like it."

"Great," she said, grabbing a box-cutter and slicing open one of the deliveries. "It's nice getting an order right now that has no lilies."

Easter was a little less than three weeks away, and many of the local churches wanted lilies for it. The Catholic parish alone wanted them to surround the altar and two of the statues, and that didn't even take into account what the Lutherans and Presbyterians were asking for. We were all so sick of hearing about lilies.

"You aren't kidding," I agreed, putting the logbook away to come help her with the boxes. They had our most recent shipment of vases. I grabbed a box and set it on the table, carefully taking each vase out. They were baby blue, pudgy, and cute, but relatively plain.

"So, Dee," Katherine started slowly, vases clinking softly as she slid them together in rows.

"Yeah?"

"Are you and Niall, you know, a thing?" she asked, turning her gaze to me. She was trying to look casual, but wasn't very good at it.

I felt a familiar weariness settle in my chest. It was going to be one of those conversations.

"No—believe it or not, we are both people. 'Things' are entirely different kinds of nouns," I replied, trying to keep my tone even so it didn't betray the awkwardness I felt. The rest of my body didn't get the memo though. My cheeks and my ears burned hot, so I could only imagine how red they must be.

"Ohhh, girl, you look like a firetruck!" Katherine squealed with delight. "It's okay if you are—I don't judge, and it's not like I'll tell anyone."

Being in a rural area, there were a lot more people with traditional values, which wouldn't mean anything if it wasn't such a small, tight-knit community. Everyone being somewhat close was a positive of the town; a negative meant that judgment and gossip spread fast. Katherine wasn't the first to ask if Niall and I were together—we'd actually gotten the question quite a few times before, complete with stiff tones and prying side-gazes. What generally stopped people from assuming there was more between us was our living situation. Even though we were in the same house, Sybil and I shared a room, and Niall and Parker shared another. The set-up was so much like what siblings would have, or similar to that of the group-home of our cover-story, that people stopped assuming a romantic relationship was involved.

Well, for the most part. Every now and then, the question would re-surface, as it evidently did today.

"You don't have to worry about not telling anyone anything, because we aren't together," I said, trying to sound firm but not too abrasive.

"Oh, look at that attitude!" Katherine commented, tossing her head from side to side.

"Sorry," I apologized, feeling a little guilty. "It's just—we aren't dating or anything."

"Do you want to be?"